


Royal Surrogate

by Ludovica



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, F/M, Forced Breeding, Forced Kismessisitude, Homestuck Kink Meme, Impregnation, M/M, Mpreg, Other, Sexual Abuse, Threesome - F/M/M, quadrant flipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:04:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludovica/pseuds/Ludovica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About 10 sweeps ago, a mysterious disease killed off each and every mother grub on Alternia. In desperate need to reform their reproductive system, the Jade bloods, at Her Royal Condescension's order and under the watchful eyes of her blueblooded henchmen, started to genetically modify the bodies of young trolls and raised them as 'surrogates' for the sake of preserving the troll race.</p><p>But while most of those modified trolls are only artificially inseminated, some of the most physically fit are sold off to those highbloods who embraced the fundamental change of the reproductive system and now refuse to let their genetic material being mixed with that of lowbloods.</p><p>Sollux Captor, a young mutant (a quality that likely would have have him culled (or worse) before the extinction of the mother grubs), was chosen as a surrogate by nobody else but the matesprit of Her Royal Heiress, the Princess of Alternia. And deep down beneath the ocean, he might learn to appreciate some of the more refined alterations the Jade bloods conducted on his body...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mutant

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for a prompt on the homestuck kink meme: http://homesmut.livejournal.com/15949.html?thread=31849549#t31849549
> 
> This AU is non-sgrub and non-exodus, so while most adult trolls are still out conquering other planets, there is still a significant number of adult trolls on the Homeworld :)

„So that’s him?“

„Yes, Your Grace.“

You don’t bother opening your blindfolded eyes, but you do lift your head when you hear the voices right in front of you. You know the second voice, the overseer’s voice, but you have never heard the other one before.

There’s a slur to that voice, something sloppy-ish, as if its owner doesn’t even bother to attempt proper pronunciation.

“He’s fuckin scrawwny.” The statement is literally soaked in contempt, and even though you are used to that tone of voice, it makes your entrails cringe slightly.

“He is a picky eater sometimes, Your Grace, and he has attempted to starve himself several times. Nevertheless, that kind of behavior usually vanishes as soon as the fertilization succeeds. And he is still physically more robust than any of our other surrogates. You have already been informed of the reason for this.”

“Yeah, that psychic thing… I actually thought a ton a lowwbloods wwere able to do shit like that.”

You feel an icy hand running over your ribs, and you immediately flinch back slightly. The hand grabs your hip and holds it in place while a finger runs over your hipbone. This is more than a simple meat inspection. Those fingers are far too interested for that.

“He is… special. For some reasons, he has double the strength and powers of normal psionics.”

“Special, huh?” You feel claws run over your hipbone, then the hand vanishes from your middle – just to grab one of your horns moments later

“In other wwords, a mutant? Wwould explain the second pair a these here…” He yanks on the horn he’s got in his fingers as your jaw tenses with that word. You don’t like being called that, even if it might actually be the truth.

The overseer hesitates a few seconds before answering. Apparently, he’s not really fond of that word either. “In some aspects, yes, Your Grace.”

“Wwell, at least freaks like that are put to good use.” The hand is pulled back. “Take that blindfold off. I don’t like fuckin things that don’t evven look at me. Wwanna see his eyes before I take him wwith me.”

The warden behind you pulls the rough piece of cloth from your face.

You hesitate to open your eyes. You do want to see what kind of asshole that stuttering jerk in front of you is, but you don’t fucking feel like obeying orders at the moment – especially if they’re not even directed at you. You are perfectly aware that you’re nothing but a grub producing fuckpod, but if that bulge muncher wants something from you, he better fucking ask.

It’s a real pity that you seem to be the only person around with this opinion.

“Open your eyes, pissblood…”, the warden snarls and punches his fist right into your ribs. You wheeze as the air is pushed out of your lunges and open your eyes in surprise.

The asshole in front of you instantly catches your chin and pushes it up, so that you have to look right into his face.

A seadweller. Well, you could have guessed that much. They mentioned ‘royalty’ before they brought you here, and you don’t usually address indigo bloods with anything like ‘Your Grace’. Though that one looks especially strange, even for a fucking fishtroll. His face looks all sorts of peeved, and you aren’t sure if that is just his current expression or if he always looks like that – he does look as if he was hatched with that look, at least. His hair is strange too – there’s actually a purple streak in it… Just the right fucking person to call another one ‘freak’. Also his clothes. Who in the name of fuck told him that that looked anything else but absolutely moronic? Honestly – who in the world still wears capes???

‘Your Grace’ your ass. That’s probably the best joke you’ve heard in fucking sweeps.

“Shit, that’s really a fuckin freak…” Now there’s not only contempt in his voice – he seems to be amused, maybe even… intrigued? You prefer not even to think about that. Instead, you just snarl – as good as you can with the gag still in your mouth – and attempt to jerk your head out of his grasp.

He just grins, exposing those spooky, thin and long seadweller fangs you’ve only seen on TV and in pictures up to now. His grip tightens as he leans forward a bit, looking right into your mismatched eyes. You snarl again and attempt to bare your own fangs.

“An quite the defiant little fucker too, huh?” His claws dig into your cheek, sure as hell drawing blood. “I like that…”

Shit. A small part of your brain had hoped that he’d be put off by something about you – be it your jutting bones, your freaky psionic powers or at least the fact that you have an extra pair of horns. And you really can’t explain how he’s NOT freaked out enough by your eyes to refuse to take you. But well, that’s what you get for doing something as stupid as ‘hoping’.

“So.” He looks at the overseer again, who shoots you a wary look out of his dark blue eyes. You know he’ll be glad as fuck once you’re finally gone. You guess he was more freaked out by your powers than any of the other assholes who’ve worked on turning you into a broodmare.

“It might be hard to get her approvval a that little scrawwny fucker, but I guess he’ll be better fit for dealin with her offspring than any other a your goods. At least accordin to wwhat you told me. Is that correct?” The blueblood nods. “Great. Do I havve to knoww anything else about that piece a lowwblood shit or…?”

“Well…” The blueblood tenses slightly. “There is one more thing, Your Grace. He does have a, well… A split tongue. It’s a deep split, and it very much looks as if he has two tongues…”

The seadweller raises an eyebrow. “Wwell, is that so? I’d really lovve to see this ‘split tongue’. Don’t wwanna purchase the cat in the bag, an stuff.”

The overseer grimaces ever so slightly, but nevertheless he motions to the warden to open the gag while he is looking at you as if he’d readily cut both of your tongues out if you should as much as dare to snarl again.

You don’t even intend to do that, actually. There are so much nicer things to do with an ungagged mouth at the moment…

As soon as the fucking gag is gone, you snatch at the seadweller’s wrist. He lets go of your chin quickly, raising both eyebrows before he snarls lowly and grabs your jaw again, with more vigor this time. You could swear that you feel blood running over your neck.

“You better not try that again, pissblood…” he hisses.

You growl and spit right into his face. “Fuck off, athththhole!”

His face contorts in anger and a rare feeling of triumph spreads in your chest – until a split second later your vision blacks out and burning pain fills your brain. When you’re able to see again, you look at the purpleblood in shock and fury. Of course, you should have expected him to hit you… But backhanding you across your face? What kind of sick weirdo even does that???

“Fucking piece a SHIT really needs to be taught some fuckin manners…” the seadweller rants as he wipes your spit off with a wet towel the overseer (who’s looking at you as if he’d really like to teach you those ‘manners’ right away) handed him. “I thought this wwas some kind a trainin facility! Wwhat the fuck did you teach him? ’10 wways to be disrespectful to your future owwner’? You should cull wwhatever ‘trainer’ wwas responsible for that pissblooded mutant failure!”

You really can’t help the wide grin that’s spreading over your face. Well, that would do for now. At least you’d not be forced to breed for that asshole of a finfucker. Of course you know that you’re now likely to be put into the General Breeding Facility and inflated with lowblood seed, but what the fuck ever – they won’t cull you, they have invested far too much into your body, and it’s better to get knocked up for the ‘common good’ than to have little versions of THAT guy inside of your body. Plus, in the GBF you won’t have to have some assholes paw at you like that bucket of purple diarrhea does – at least according to the staff of the training facility, the trolls there just have a generic dose of the classic incestuous slurry pumped into them, and then put on special hormones to speed the whole procedure up.

If you have to spend your whole fucking life being knocked up, laying eggs, and getting knocked up again, you’d rather do it in a fully computerized grub plant than being that asshole’s fuckslave.

The warden behind you grabs your bound arms brutally enough to produce a disgusting cracking noise.

“I’m tremendously sorry, Your Grace!” the overseer sputters. “We’ll make sure to have him appropriately punished. Please forgive me that I wasted your time.” The blueblood turns around to the warden and motions him to take you away – but when the brute behind you is just starting to drag you off, the purple asscod stops rubbing his face and snarls at the overseer.

“I didn’t fuckin tell you to take that piece a shit awway, did I??? Just fuckin gag him again! And tie him up properly. I’ll havve my men get him tomorroww evvenin. An don’t you dare to damage him.” The seadweller turns around, his cape swinging with the motion as if he was the villain in some shitty super hero movie.

When he leaves the room, you could swear that you hear him growl something along the lines of “I’ll teach that little fucker to be a obedient bucket.”


	2. Dispatched

Everything happens in a blur that night.

You receive a good last yelling by the overseer, a last ration of the gruesome nutrition slime they call ‘food,’ a last time of being subjected to the sexual harassment they call ‘examination,’ a last affectionate good-bye-rant by your ornery, nubby-horned cellmate/best and only friend, and then you’re well tied up and thrown into the back of a transportation pod.

You know that it wouldn’t do any good to use your psionic powers. The walls of these pods are usually reinforced, and there are about twenty fucking bluebloods and five seadwellers accompanying it (that punk-haired asshole seems to be some kind of big deal or something), and even though you would maybe be able to take on a dozen of them, the other dozen would easily be able to take you down during that… Well, it’s not as if your life wasn’t fucked up before. Hell, it’s been shit ever since you’ve hatched. This is just a further prove of how much the universe hates you.

The drive takes several hours, and while you see the dark sky pass by in front of the small vent in the stowage, a familiar void starts to spread inside of you. You feel limp, drained, hollow… What does it matter that you will have to breed with that asshole? What does it matter that you will have to spread your legs for somebody as insufferable as that? It’s not as if it means anything. As if it was important. Fucking nothing is important. It’s just your body that’s going to be fucked. You’re used to pain and humiliation. You’re used to getting things shoved up your nook. You’re used to people calling you lowblood, pissblood, mutant, freak. You have been nothing but a prospective grub pod for sweeps. It’s really not as if your life at the training facility was anything to be actually missed… Of course, apart from KK…

You struggle to sit up and press your body into a corner on the far end of the vehicle’s storage door. Well, KK has been the only good thing that has happened to you in the last five sweeps. Of course you would lose him. It would be too fucking much if you ever not lost anything that was important to you. And you knew that you’d lose him. You always knew that there wouldn’t happen anything good to you that would not brutally come to an abrupt end.

It is stupid to even feel anything remotely similar to sadness about that. This is how things are. This is how the world works. Some, like this purplehaired grubsucker, are inexplicably designated to live their lives with power and prosperity, while others are thrown into a joyless existence of constant humiliation, misery and misfortunes. And the universe is ridiculously unambiguous in showing who it is in favor of. Hell, your race even has physical traits to show how much more or less fucked you are!

Even though, of course, there are some lowbloods who are more fortunate than others. But well… After all, you’re not only a lowblood. You’re a fucking mutant. Your double horns and split tongue might damn well be the most normal thing about you. You’ve been haunted by the voices of the soon-to-die since you can think. And you don’t even want to start thinking of how much of a freak your eyes make you. Or your two-color psionics. Being used ‘for the common good’ is pretty much only a sequel to the fucking cruel joke your hatching has already been.

Except that now you won’t even do anything for the common good. Now you’ll be the exclusive breeding barkbeast female for this purple asshole and his likely similarly purple matesprit, making tiny, slimy grubs with purple scales for them in your tweaked body. 

You feel sick, but you have got enough self-control left not to spit out the remnants of your 'breakfast'. You just want to hide in some hole. Never come out again. Die in there. Everything sucks, just as it always did. You're used to it, and at the same time you're so utterly sick of it... You're so utterly sick of yourself... If you hadn't been born with this bloodcolor, these powers, these curses, maybe you would have been able to live a life with some form of dignity. But no. Not you. Of course not. The universe hates you. Though it likely doesn't hate you as much as you hate yourself.

You wonder if you could hate that purple asshole more than yourself. You haven't seen a lot of him yet, and you still feel a burning, utterly platonic rage inside of your chest whenever you only think of him. You really wonder if it's actually possible that you hate anybody any more than you hate yourself...

If they had just let you starve yourself to death. If they just hadn't caught you stealing that lancet from the exam room. It could have been over at some point. Your life could have stopped being such an utterly cruel joke. But no, they rammed a fucking tube into your gullet; they took the lancet away, put you into solitary confinement for two weeks and shackled you to the examination table whenever you were in the exam room. You hated them for not just letting you die. You hated them for not killing you. You tried to make them do it, so many times... But the worst you ever carried off of insulting, biting, kicking or spitting at the wardens and doctors, or even attacking them with your psionics, was a broken arm. It was excruciating how much they cared for 'keeping the products fully functional'.

God, you miss KK so much already... His incessant cursing, his infinite complaining, his ornery defiance... Now that they have taken him from you as well as everything else you ever had, you could just as well surrender. Just stop thinking, like they tried to make you during the sweeps you have spent at the transformation and training facility... Just spread your legs for this asshole, not react any more than you have to, just become the depersonalized grub pod they have always wanted you to be. What is defiance good for, anyway? There isn’t anything left you can protect anyway. Why not just let this asshole have you, fuck you, fill you up with all the disgusting little fish-wrigglers he wants you to have. You should just try to forget that you ever had a mind of your own. It would be so much easier... Only doing what other people tell you, not being responsible for anything you do, just becoming a tool, yielding to those who will use you as their tool anyway...

In the end, it doesn’t matter if your disgust for the seadweller who bought you burns with the ardor of a thousand suns, does it? It will change nothing. Simply nothing. It will just make it harder for you. Giving up would be so easy... Getting rid of the scourge that is your free will…

You have no clue how long you have been thinking about these things, but it has to be a fucking long time, because just as you contemplate the ups and downs of becoming a submissive breeding puppet for that purple-haired cod-fucker, the transportation pod comes to a halt. Outside, you hear a strange, distant roaring, a noise you never heard before. You push your back against the wall, as if the storage of the pod was any safer than whatever was outside. Of course, the bluebloods who come in to haul you out don't really care. You contemplate struggling for a second, but you decide against it - your body feels incredibly limp, drained, useless... As if not even your psionics had any power at the moment.

A strange, unfamiliar kind of breeze reaches your nose as soon as you're outside. It smells salty, and kind of... fishy...

You look up, involuntarily curious.

You are standing on a high cliff, and below you - the world ends. You don't know how else to describe it. The world ends, and is replaced by living glass, by roaring, liquid, moving mountains, breaking the light of the two moons, their black fury glistening in green and purple, bursting on the jagged rock face, dissolving into lilac and lime green spume.

"Like the view, pissblood?"

One of the seadwellers grabs your shoulder and holds you in place, as if he wants to make sure that you don't stop looking at the sea - you know that it has to be just that, the ocean, the home of these finned purple freaks... And Gl'Bgolyb's lair...

An ice-cold shiver runs over your spine when this thought comes to your mind. You are closer than ever to the one creature every single troll fears, the one creature that could extinguish your whole race with a single noise.

Something inside of your stomach turns.

"Well, I guess you've enjoyed it long enough now. Let’s get your sorry ass to your owners."

The purpleblood behind you shoves you forward, and you startle for a moment - actually thinking he was planning to just shove you over the cliff - until you see something like a metal platform hanging at the outmost edge of the rock. You look over your shoulder quickly and see that the bluebloods are getting back into the transportation pod, while the purplebloods are following the one who is shoving you towards the platform.

As soon as all of you are standing on it, the platform starts to move down. You kind of wonder why they didn't just install a transportalizer - the feeling of slowly floating down isn't exactly helping the strange rumbling in your stomach. But the platform finally stops, and you're standing on something like a large, round landing stage with a hole in the middle.

It's not over though - it's just getting worse.

At least that's the first thing you think when you see the metal stairs leading right into the hole in the middle of the stage. The purpleblood shoves you down, and the roaring of the sea becomes louder, angrier as you descend, until you finally reach something that looks like the bridge of a miniature spaceship (at least compared to the few 'bridges' you saw in movies as a kid). Two of the other purplebloods man the control panels while you are shoved across the room to a door that kind of reminds you of a thermal hull.

It turns out to be some pod of sorts - it's organic at the inside, like most of troll technology, and there is just enough space for you to stand in.

"Stay in there. Don't even try to open the door", the purpleblood growls. "If you open the door, you won't only drown, but the water pressure will immediately squash your puny little lowblood body to a piss-colored pulp." Then he closes the door, leaving you in claustrophobic, stifling, pulsating darkness.

You try to keep yourself from panicking during the first moments - for a second you think there is not enough air in here, but you soon notice that this feeling vanishes when you just take shallow, short breaths. You lean against the wall in the back, which is slightly yielding under the insignificant weight of your body. Somehow, the stuffy heat feels nearly comforting... It kind of reminds you of your recuperacoon...

You try to imagine what is happening at the moment, and you're nearly glad that you can't actually hear or see anything. Seadwellers live under the sea - well, of course they do - so the transportation pod you're in at the moment is likely just diving down to the bottom of the ocean. You have no idea how deep the ocean is, but you guess it is very deep, if the purpleblood is right and the pressure could really kill you. You wonder if you could control the pressure with your psionics... But to be honest, you'd rather not have to try.

The humid warmth and the slow, rhythmical pulse of the pod pairs up with your emotional exhaustion, and you feel how your limbs are slowly getting heavier, how your eyes are closing more and more...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You're not waking up as suddenly as you usually do. It's more as if you were slowly floating back into reality, just as slowly as you immerged into the horror world of your sleep. You're lying on something incredibly soft, but dry, like nothing you have ever felt before. Your eyelids twitch, but you don't open them yet - they still feel too heavy, and you don't feel like seeing things again already. The darkness is pleasant... comforting... soothing...

"That's 'im?"

A female voice. Your eyelids flutter slightly, but you clench them shut again. Your brain slowly wakes up fully, but you don't react yet, just listen.

"Yes, that's him."

The voice of the purple-haired jerk. It gets harder to pretend to be still asleep, but you stay still.

"'e looks shoreibly scrawny..."

The female sounds rather unhappy. Well, you guess you wouldn't be very enthusiastic either if you were in her place. After all, you know that you don't look as if you could host even a single healthy grub...

"He's fine, Fef. Kinda mutant or somethin."

You are surprised to notice an undertone to his voice that sounds almost... caring.

"A mutant? Whale... That explains the 'orns, doesn't it."

"Exactly wwhat I said." He sounds so smug that you'd like to just jump up and punch him into the face.

Sadly, you seem to still be shackled. You slowly pull at the menacles, acting as if you were just starting to slowly wake up. While you have no desire to see the ugly face of that stupid jerk again, you are kind of curious about the female... After all, she will inseminate you just as much as her fishface of a matesprit will.

You open your eyes ever so slowly, trying to make out the people in the room as quickly as possible. The first thing you see is the asshole with the purple streak in his hair - he looks even dumber than you remember from yesterday. Then you slowly start to see the walls of something like a cave... Then the ceiling... High and round, like a dome...

You don't actually see her until your eyes are nearly fully open. She is small for a seadweller, just reaching to her matesprit's shoulder, and she is wearing a strange, multicolored skirt... Her hair is long, and there is some kind of ornament on her forehead. You clench your eyes shut for another moment to be able to see better before you look at her again, finally looking at her sign.

Your eyes immediately fly open.

Her sign isn't just purple.

It's Tyrian.

And all of a sudden you know what kind of 'big deal' that punk-haired asshole is.


	3. The Heiress Apparent

"Oh! 'e's awake!"

Her voice sounds strangely alarmed, with only the tiniest undertone of curiosity. You see her frown and turn to the purpleblood.

"Our fries won't ‘ave eeeyes like that, will they, Eeeridan?"

For a second you wonder what the fuck she means with 'fries', but it doesn't really seem to be important enough for you to concentrate on that right now. Right now, there are other things you try to wrap your mind around.

The color of her sign makes several pieces of this totally fucked up puzzle fall into place.

First, you now understand why exactly the overseer called that piece of rotten fish jerky 'Your Grace'. Of course, the matesprite of Her Royal Heiress (the tone of voice he was using when talking to her pretty much ruled out any kind of kismesissitude) would be treated as if he was the master of the fucking sea.

Second, you understand what he meant with 'better fit for dealin with her offspring'. It is a well-known fact (at least among surrogates and the doctors and other jade-bloods of the facility) that the higher on the hemospectrum a troll is, the harder it gets for the surrogate to bear their children. Partly because the eggs are bigger, partly because the little suckers need a whole fucking lot of energy. That is one of the reasons why most jadebloods actually still rather see a highblood pair contribute their genetic material to the common genetic slurry, or at least highbloods mating with trolls considerably lower on the hemospectrum than them (though the jadebloods are pretty much the only people with such views) than to have them burden a surrogate with their offspring. A lot of physically average surrogates absolutely can't be fertilized for up to a sweep after one breeding like that. Blue and purple grubs suck your body dry like fucking bloodsucker worms.

And you have no damn idea how that stuff works with TYRIAN grubs. You don't think that a normal troll would survive a spawning like that. Hell, you don't know if you would be able to survive that.

No, not would. Will. Because that's what this all amounts to: You will have to carry for them. You have no clue how big the chance of any of their grubs being tyrian even is, but fuck, you don't even need to know that to be scared shitless already.

"No, they wwon't, cuddlefish. Don't wworry." The purple prick has stepped up to her and is now brushing a streak of her long hair behind one of her strange fin ears. "Don't forget, he'll only be a... vvessel. Like a bucket." He looks at you for a second, his eyes meeting yours. The way he drawled those words makes it obvious to you that they weren't only supposed to be pacification for the princess.

"Ew, don't say things like that."

She swats at his arm gently, and you frown for a second - did she catch the ulterior motives behind his words too? You don't know why, but you wouldn't really have deemed her that observant. Or sensitive enough to actually tell him off for that. Maybe because you generally don't think that anybody with cold blood running through their veins could be anything else than ignorant and cold-hearted.

However, the smile on her face makes it obvious that she doesn't really care all that much about that. Maybe it's something like a game between matesprits. He says things she doesn't want him to say, and he gets a gentle rebuke for-

What the fuck, are you actually thinking about the expressions of their relationship at the moment? Don't you have anything else to do? For example, stare back at that smug asscod with as much disdain in your mutant eyes as possible. He catches your stare and snarls.

"There's a thing you should knoww though, Fef", he says and lets go of her. "He's kinda a problematic case I guess. He's tried to bite me wwhen I inspected him. So it'd be better if you wwould be a bit careful around that freak."

She looks at you for some moments, eyeing you up. You really wonder how old she is... The higher on the hemospectrum, the slower you age, after all. And you heard that she'd need about another 100 to 150 sweeps at least to be able to actually challenge Her Royal Condescension for the throne. Her eyes aren't even all out tyrian, if you see that right... There's a very dark ring around her iris.

Her face is rather childish too. Not too much (thank the nightterrors, you don't know how you would feel about being fucked by a girl that looked like a fucking 6-sweep-old), but enough to still be well noticeable. Her body doesn't look all that grown up either - you know that highblood women often sport huge racks and wide hips (no one really knows why, but most think that it keeps their bodies warm in some way, and is also a sign of physical strength and aggressiveness; though that might be because females generally are stronger and more aggressive, and since only females have boobs... Well.)

Anyway, her body isn't as curvy as you would have expected. She's not thin either, she's... stocky. Yeah, that's a good word for it. Her whole body looks slightly disproportionate and nearly chubby, but not as soft as it would be if she was chubby. And her legs and arms are a lot shorter than you would have thought usual for a seadweller. A small and stocky girl with hip-long hair and huge, not completely colorized eyes... No, that's definitely not how you imagined the princess to look. Though you have to admit that you never really thought about how she might look. She always was just ‘The Princess’ to you, nothing more. Her looks didn't matter at fucking all.

You guess that kind of stuff changes when you are supposed to breed with a person...

Not that you would find her unattractive or anything. You don't find her attractive either. You pretty much find her nothing. Her face looks a lot less snooty than you might have thought, but otherwise...

You care a lot more about that arrogant ass of a fishtroll next to her. And not in a positive way.

Though the little look she is casting him now, after she examined you as thoroughly as she seems to see fit, does make her a lot more likeable to you.

"Oh, come on, Eeericrab! It's seariously pathetic if you let somebody pike that bite you. You should reelly be far faster than that! What's with your reflexes? I mean, look at 'im. Turtle-y no mussles, fin pike an eel, 'alf a dozen colors below you... It's dolphinately your own fault." (1)

You blink while your brain tries to process what exactly she just said. Fuck, that girl uses a lot of puns... Honestly... What the fuck?

While you're not quite sure if you actually understood everything she said, you do notice how little the asshole who bought you likes it (she called him Eridan before, didn't she? Or Eeeridan, but you guess that's just a thing she does, like not saying any 'h's and the fish puns). His face looks even more peeved than before, and he looks at you as if it was your fault that his matesprit was making fun of him.

She is looking at you again now too, but with a rather insecure look in her eyes. No, she doesn't seem to be nervous or anything - she just doesn't look as if she knows what's going to happen next.

"Uhm, so... What are we supposed to do with 'im now?" She grabs Eridan's cape with one hand - fuck, her hands are really small - and lets it run through her fingers.

Your body tenses slightly when you see the shark-like grin that's slowly spreading on Eridan's face, despite his efforts to not let it show that obviously.

"Wwhale..." He's punning too now, and a shiver runs over your spine. There's an eerie glint in his eyes when he looks at you again. He looks... hungry.

"I guess wwe're supposed to fill his nook and sea wwhat happens..."

He doesn't seem to notice how she is curling her lips slightly at those words. She looks at you again, a slightly defiant look in her eyes. You wonder if she notices how much you have tensed with those words. It's not exactly something you want to hear out of that asshole's mouth, no matter how inevitable that is going to happen.

"'e's only just arrived. 'o knows what kind of landdwhaler di-sea-ses 'e brought from that plaice you got 'im from. And 'e still smells pike medicine and earth and fins pike that. I'm shore we'll 'ave enough time for... doing those fins... once 'e's been 'ere for a whale." (2)

It's really hard to understand what she is saying, but you do understand that she told him off - again. And this time in a quite strict tone of voice. As if she knows that Eridan will try to persuade her. You wouldn't have thought so at first - but it's rather obvious who's got the upper hand in this relationship.

Well, on second thought, everything else would be kind of weird - after all, she is the heiress to the throne, and she might be the empress one day. She better have some authority, despite her rather unimpressive appearance.

You are actually really relieved to find that kind of authority in her. She seems to be a lot less insufferable than her matesprit, at least, even though she seems to dislike you for some reason or other. And her way to talk about you isn't exactly flattering either (though you're well familiar with people talking about you while you're in the same room). But at least she doesn't seem to think it would be fun to 'show you your place' like that wavy-horned dipshit seems to do.

She casts you a last look - wary, skeptic, with the tiniest signs of distaste (at least you guess that’s what it is) curling around her lips - then she turns around.

"We should let 'im rest for now. Bring 'im some food, please. Somefin fat, salmon or tuna maybe. I still think 'e looks as if 'e's going to starve any moment."

She gives her matesprit a nod, then she just - plunges into a hole in the floor. You haven't even noticed that hole before - even though it was right behind the two seadwellers all this time, as you see now. It's broad, occupying a good part of the cave-room, and there are stairs leading into it. You frown slightly. Plunging doesn't seem to be a very good idea with those stairs around - what if she had hit her head?

Your contemplation is cut short when you feel a webbed hand around your throat. You immediately start to struggle as it tightens and pull at your manacles violently when you look up and see the purple piece of shit towering before you. He leans forward until your noses nearly touch, then he snarls ferociously.

"Don't evven think about tryin to appeal to her compassion, you pissblooded maggot... She might be nicer than I am, but she's still goin to fuck you, and you're goin to be a fuckin good little bucket and spread your legs for her. If I havve to keep you from hurtin her durin that, I'll cut your fuckin hands off. I hope for you that you understand that." His voice is low, but still sharp and threatening enough to make a cold shiver run over your back when you snarl back.

"I'm no one'th bucket, fuckwit..." You know that it's pathetic, but you really, really don't want to have that asshole have the last word. His reaction comes immediately - maybe he's minding her criticism from earlier, you don't know, you just know that his backhand still hurts like a bitch. But this time you didn't black out at least.

"I am goin to teach you the manners those imbecile landglubbers couldn't, pissblood..." he growls, pulling his claws over your neck while he pulls his hand back. You growl back, lower though, trying to ignore the pain. You don't want him to see it on your face. You don't want him to think that he could ever get the better of you.

You know that he likely will, though. Not only likely... You don't want to face it, but it's clear that you don't stand a chance against him. You will spread your legs for him eventually, it's unavoidable; but you will fight to the very end.

He just smirks at you, then he turns around, his stupid cape swinging behind him. He plunges into the hole as well, completely ignoring the stairs leading into the water.

It’s a fucking pity that he didn’t hit his head, you think while you watch the waves he caused.

You'd rather die than become that asshole's 'good little bucket'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Since a friend of mine had some problems with Feferi's punning, do you need a translation for that? I get slightly carried away with fishpuns, so I don't really notice when it gets a bit much :X
> 
> EDIT: On popular (more or less) demand, here you've got the translations for some of Feferi's fish glubbing (the worst, I think) 38D 
> 
> (1) "Oh, come on, Eeericrab! It's seriously pathetic if you let somebody like that bite you. You should really be far faster than that! What's with your reflexes? I mean, look at 'im. Totally no muscles, thin like an eel, 'alf a dozen colors below you... It's definately your own fault."
> 
> (2) "'e's only just arrived. 'o knows what kind of landdweller diseases 'e brought from that place you got 'im from. And 'e still smells like medicine and earth and things like that. I'm sure we'll 'ave enough time for... doing those things... once 'e's been 'ere for a while."


	4. Settling Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! This chapter got kinda too long (yeah yeah, brevity is the soul of wit, but whateveeer), sooo I basically just split it :X What you're seeing here is actually the first part of the original 4th chapter, but well... I can't make you guys read through 10 word pages in here, that'd be brutal. So you just get one more chapter earlier 38D Fifth isn't all ready yet, but should be soon!
> 
> Also, this chapter needs a WARNING: suicide fantasies

You sigh when the last waves are gone on the surface of the water, and just look at the round, dome-like ceiling of the cave for a while, blocking out each and every thought. The rocky walls of the cave are dark, shiny - wet. You notice that the air in here smells slightly stale, and when you hear a low rustling, you finally discover a hole in the wall which seems to contain some strange kind of ventilation device. You're used to ventilation devices, there wasn't exactly much fresh air in the training facility either, but that one looks strange to you... It looks as if dried kelp was flapping around in there. You frown for a second, but then deem it unworthy of your attention - after all, if there wouldn't be enough air for you to breath in here, you'd already be dead.

Which would very likely be better than what was actually going to happen to you.

You groan lowly as you roll around on the strange soft thing you're lying on - you guess that it's some kind of extravagantly huge pailing couch, at least it looks like one - tugging at the manacles again, for the hundredth time maybe. Your arms are feeling pretty numb by now... Of course, you're used to have your hands tied behind your back, but you guess you've been lying on your arms for quite a while... You just really wish you could have a good stretching right now. Every single muscle of your body seems to be sore...

You wonder how long it will take before they decide to fill you up. That purple asshole seems to be incredibly eager to do so, but the princess... She really doesn't seem to like the idea of mating with you. Well, it's not as if she was really mating with you, but it's still having sex with you, and you guess for people who weren't brought up with medical alterations and indoctrinations about how they were supposed to be nothing but grub-carrying reproduction devices, that might be quite a similar thing as actually mating.

Shit, who are you kidding, it's pretty much the same thing for you too. It's sex, after all. It's touching and fucking and...

You shudder when you imagine that dipshit's cold, webbed hands on your body. You don't care a lot about the princess, because she doesn't seem to be the kind of person who would enjoy fucking somebody else against their will, but her shitstain of a matesprit... You're very, very sure that he'll enjoy every second of fertilizing you.

Slowly you start to butt your head repeatedly against the excruciatingly soft surface of that thing you're lying on. You wish it was harder. You wish it would at least hurt... You wish it was hard enough that you could just crack your skull open on it. Let your mutant brain spill over the floor of the cave. Let your blood run into the pond that seems to be the only exit of this place. Greet that asshole of a seadweller with a haze of mustard in the water when he comes to feed you.

You are kind of getting fatigued with your own futile suicide fantasies. So far, you’ve not been able to pull it off. You know you would have had the chance. The walls of your room in the facility would have been hard enough to crack your head open on them. You never had the guts to actually do it. You do want to die, that's what you've wanted for the longest part of your life, but you're a fucking coward. You want it to be quick, if not painless. And thorough. If you just passed out after hitting your head against the wall a few times, they would likely be able to save you. And make you pay for trying to destroy one of their valuable products. After all, it's not as if you've got any right to end your life. It's not yours anymore.

You know that.

It just makes you want to feel your skull break even more.

You turn around on the huge pailing couch and suddenly notice a doorway in the wall across the room. You frown again and sit up, even though that really doesn't help the soreness in your shoulders. That wouldn't be an exit, would it? No, you really can't imagine that. Why would they need an exit like that when they had the hole? But it was a doorway, without a door, and there seemed to be another cave room behind it.

With some difficulty due to the still bound state of your arms you stand up and walk over to the door. The first thing you see in there is a mirror - or at least something that might be supposed to be a mirror. You can't say what it's made of, but it does look a lot like the polished inside of a huge clam. The surface shines milky white and seems to be slightly iridescent, and you can see your reflection, but not very clearly. Well, if every mirror in this place looks like that, you guess you know how that purple fucker manages to dress like such an asinine court jester.

There's a washing basin below that - hell, do they seriously use clamshells for absolutely everything?? - and a waste gaper next to it. You don't have to be a genius to know that that's an ablution spatiality even before you enter it. However, when you do enter it, you see another piece of sanitary fitting. It's not from seashells this time, but seems to actually have been carved in the stone of the cave itself. It's bigger and deeper than most ablution traps you've seen before, and circular. Who the fuck needs a huge, circular ablution tr-

Oh.

Shit.

You really hope that the thought that just came to your mind isn't correct. Not that you'd be any more inclined to be pailed on the huge couch, but it would definitely be better than doing it in the fucking water, possibly with that asshat of a seasnail pushing your head under water or anything like that. You guess for seadwellers, being under water during paling is a lot more comfortable, but definitely not for you.

You turn around to leave the ablution spactiality and take a closer look to the room they seemed to have assigned to you, for now at least. The pailing couch takes in the largest part of the cave, but there's a recuperacoon in one corner, again a rather big one, and a table next to it. Or not really a table... You have no idea what to call it. It looks as if they had just left a ledge hanging out of the rock, cut the surface smooth and put a stool behind it. But well, that's perfectly fine with you. Maybe you'd even manage to make Eridan - god, you can hardly think of that name without wanting to puke - so angry that he'd hit your head against the rock surface.

One could hope at least.

The last thing in the room is a chest - a rather big thing, standing on the other side of the recuperacoon, completely covered in seashells. You can't say if you're honestly curious, or if you just approach the chest because there's nothing else to do anyway, and the least you can do is acquaint yourself with your surroundings.

You really have to admit, sometimes your psionic powers come fucking in handy. There'd be no way you could open that chest without them, with your hands bound behind your back and all.

But since you do have your psionics, it doesn't take more than a bit of concentration, a short string of red energy, and a fast upward movement with your power to open the clasp. You then push the lid up.

There's nothing especially exciting in the chest, though. Some generic pairs of underpants, a few black clothes, towels, that kind of stuff. Well - at least you won't have to run around in dirty clothes. That's a good thing, you guess...

You sigh lowly and slam the chest shut with your foot, just as you hear an alarming noise behind you. You instantly turn around, just to see Lord Stupid-Cape (yeah, that was a shitty one, even you have to admit that) emerging from the water.

You immediately back up when he turns to you, your eyes tingling with psionic energy. You don't want that ass to get anywhere near you.

He just looks you over with a cool expression on his face (actually, he looks pretty annoyed), before he walks over to the rock-table and pulls a plate with a huge, silvery fish out of his sylladex.

"Fef said you should eat. So fuckin eat. I'll be back in an hour. You better be done eatin till then."

You just snarl at him and flip him off. He growls back and tenses for a second, then he relaxes again and walks towards you. You back off until you feel the chest pressing against your calves and snarl again. He stops about two feet away from you, lifting one eyebrow.

You didn't notice before how fucking soaked he is after getting out of the water. But now that he’s so close to you and you’re actually paying attention to that, it's actually fucking hilarious. His cape seems to be of some kind of water-repellent fabric and his glasses seem to be water-repellent too, but his sweater, his scarf, his absolutely ridiculous trousers are hanging from his body are completely drenched, and his hair is sticking to his forehead, making his purple strand look even more stupid.

“Turn around.” 

“Why should I?” you growl, and he reciprocates it in a decidedly annoyed manner.

“Because I guess it’s goin to be fuckin annoyin to try an eat wwithout your hands, nookstain.” He bared his fangs and crossed his hands in front of his chest, waiting. “Not that I wwant you to be comfortable or any shit like that, but Fef wwould be super annoyed if you’d choke on a fishbone because you can’t eat properly.”

You raise an eyebrow. Is he seriously trying to help you? Like, with anything? Of course, his reason does sound valid, but still… That’s definitely not the kind of behavior you would have expected from that twat. Of course, you could just use your psionics for eating… But your arms really, really hurt…

“No funny buthinethth…” you hiss before you slowly turn around.

He snorts and makes a show of imitating you. “No, I promif, no funny bufineff.” Then you hear a low ‘Beep’ and feel a harsh tug on your wrists, then the weight vanishes and you’re able to move your arms again. Your bones grate when you lift your arms slightly and start to rub your joints, turning around again to see how the seadweller pockets the keyplate he used to open your manacles.

He gives you another contemptuous look, then he turns around and walks back to the hole, his cape flying behind him (that can't be a normal cape, or do normal capes fly around all the fucking time???). When he's at the hole again, he faces you a last time. "Eat, pissblood. I wwon't tolerate you tryin to starvve yourself to death or any shit like that."

With a last glare in your direction he turns around, walks down the stairs, immerges and is gone.

You watch the water until the surface is completely smooth again, then you walk over to the table, rubbing your left shoulder now, and look at the fish. You've seen some fish before you were put into the facility, and even though the memory is distant and slightly hazy, you still are able to realize that this fish is really, really fresh. Its gills are still scarlet red, its eyes are clear and a thin, slimy film is covering its whole body.

Oh, and if that wouldn't give the freshness level of that thing away, the still bleeding wound in its belly definitely does.

You frown slightly and turn away from the animal. You're not really hungry... In fact, you can't even remember the last time you've really been hungry. You don't know why, you just generally lack any kind of appetite... You don't know if it's already been like that before you've been committed to the facility, but you haven't eaten because you actually wanted or felt as if you needed food in sweeps.

And that this preposterous, bigheaded cock of a seadweller has ordered you to eat makes the prospect of food even less desirable.

You sigh lowly as you turn around and just walk back to the mating couch, rotating your arms in order to at least soothe the soreness in your joints. You don't care about what he will do to punish you if you don't eat. You're not going to. Fuck that asshole. You eat when you decide to eat. After all, you are pretty sure that they don't keep fucking feeding tubes around here. Maybe you should try your old 'strategy' again. Maybe it will work this time.

Or maybe it will at least make them return you to the facility. Being used in the General Breeding Facility sounds like fucking paradise at the moment, in contrast to the prospect of being fucked by that insufferable prick and likely dying a slow, gruesome death from a tyrian grub nesting in your bowels... There are even stories about that, grubs hatching inside of the surrogate and just feeding on their flesh until they're strong enough to pupate. Of course, that's mainly horror stories older surrogates tell newbies to have a little fun with them... After all, at a place without any kind of entertainment other than old, half-rotten books and a movie-evening once a week (which is a privilege you had lost in most weeks anyway), people have to find their own ways to divert themselves from the huge shithive that is their life. But still... You really wonder if that is possible. You have never heard about anybody really carrying tyrian grubs, after all.

Oh, isn’t it a great feeling to be used as a fucking guinea pig a-fucking-gain? As if it wasn't enough that you've been part of the second generation ever to be configured; the first generation with a 'failure quota' (i.e. dead trolls) below 75%.

You're sick of being used to find out if things work. They've tried so many first-ever-procedures with you just because your psionics make your body more resilient than that of normal lowbloods... In the end, you were incredibly lucky that actually most of those procedures either worked or had no effect at all (besides rashes, discharges, headaches, nausea and negative effects on your already pretty wrecked psyche).

You really don't like the thought that, even though you've survived all of these experiments, you'd die when you'd try to perform the task all those former experiments tried to customize your body for.

But it would be a lovely irony, wouldn't it?

Like shit it would.

While you've been contemplating all those nice things, you've sat down on the couch, stretching your shoulders in different directions, until you have the feeling that you can actually move them without too much pain again.

You sigh lowly and lay down on your back, staring up to the ceiling. You really wonder what will happen when that asscod comes back and sees that you haven't eaten anything. He can't really do much, can he? Of course, he can try to beat you up... But you really don't care. Pain sucks, of course, but it's so much better than letting somebody as insufferable as that asshole gain satisfaction from your obeying his orders.

And you really, really don't want to eat. You don't feel all that well... Maybe it's the stress of the situation, maybe it's the fact that you're likely about 2000 miles under the sea, maybe it's all the worrying you have submitted yourself to - or maybe it's all that shit combined, you don't know. That last thing is pretty likely, actually.

Lying around on that damn soft piece of whatever it's supposed to be (honestly, who needs a pailing couch with space for ten people???) is making you pretty tired... And it's not as if you had anything else to do at the moment than to wait for Eridan to come back... God, you wish you knew his surname, it already makes you feel disgusting to only hear his first name in your head...

Your eyes slowly fall shut. You're not exactly falling asleep - or at least you try not to - you rather doze off, just for a while, just to regain some more energy...


	5. The Princess' Consort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got horrible long even though I already divided it in two...
> 
> But well.
> 
> Guys, this chapter comes with a TRIGGER WARNING for graphic forced feeding.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)
> 
> Oh, and also: Thank you for all your comments for the last chapter! I really appreciate each single one of them :) You're awesome <3

You wake up when you hear a low, splashing noise. You immediately sit up and see the princess's matesprit emerge from the water.

He runs his hand through his hair, combing it out of his face, then he looks at you first, before he turns to the table. He instantly frowns when he sees the completely untouched fish.

"So, you decided to disobey?" he growls, wringing out the dripping ends of his scarf slowly and thoroughly, not looking at you until he is done, but continuously facing the spurned fish.

You snort. "I wathn't hungry."

He turns around to you now, looking you over with a cool expression on his face. However, it seems that he's forcing himself to stay cool - you can see how his eyes widen a bit, how his lips tense, turning into a narrow line on his face. His fin ears seem to get bigger - is he puffing up?

You just stay where you are, crossing your arms in front of your chest, waiting for him to make the first move. Your psionics might be a bit rusty (using them in any significant way apart from lifting things up usually resulted in solitary confinement in the facility, so you didn't really have a chance to practice), but if he starts to attack you, you are sure that you can keep him from completely bleaching your hide, at least.

He takes a deep breath and walks over to the table. He grabs the fish on its tail, pushing his claws through its scales, then turns around and slowly approaches you.

You stance your legs a bit farther apart on the floor, getting some proper footing while you lean back a bit, your arms still crossed, looking at the seadweller with the best 'Now what?' look you can muster. You really wish you could do that lifting only one eyebrow thing, but since you can't do that, cocking your head and pulling one of the corners of your mouth up will have to suffice.

"You think that's funny?", he snarls, "You think you can get awway wwith that? That I'll just pull a lame-ass movve like tellin you that you're not gettin any food for some days so you learn to vvalue it or some shit like that?" He is right in front of you now, leaning over you so you have to look up to him. You raise both of your eyebrows, then grin.

"Well, I guethth you'd be thtupid enough to do that, aththcod..."

His eyes widen immediately, and before you can react, he slaps you across your face again - but not with the back of his hand this time.

No.

With the fucking fish.

For a second you're utterly dumbfounded. Granted, you've been hit with a lot of things in your life - but a fish???

Unfortunately you are too dumbfounded to notice that his fish attack seems to have been a diversionary tactic.

You guess if you weren't currently lying on your back, your body pinned down by his weight, your throat trapped under his right forearm and one of your wrists held in the vice-like clutch of his webbed right hand, you'd totally say it was nothing but a...

Red Herring.

But sadly, you are currently lying on your back, your body pressed down by his weight, yadda yadda, and you are not in the mood for puns. No matter what a fucking awesome pun that is. You'd rather pun-ch fishface's nose right now.

Oh god, do your psionic powers come in handy right now. While one of your arms is still free, it's not exactly in a good position to punch at the moment, so you instead use it to grab the collar of that categorically moronic cape and yank it back. You catch him off guard for a second and immediately use this precious second of surprise to form your psionics to a sphere in front of your face and slam that sphere right into his face.

The force of the impact knocks him off of you, right onto the cave floor. He's fucking quick in getting back on his feet, though, and you can hardly roll away when he charges at you again. You kick for him, trying to get off your back, but he grabs both of your wrists and pushes them down next to you. You concentrate your psionics again to try and push him away, but he is a lot stronger than you would have thought - though you guess it's self-evident that he's stronger than an average blueblood, with him being a seadweller and all.

Even when you release more of your power, he doesn't let go off you. His body is slightly shaking, and his face twitches whenever you put more power into the red and blue energy hands trying to shove him away, but his grip doesn't weaken at all, no matter how much you twist and turn and push against him.

You really haven't used your psionics in a strife for a very, very long time. And apparently, this has had serious consequences for your strength.

An utterly despicable grin forms on his face when he notices that that's all you've got, that there's nothing more to come. He forces your wrists higher up and takes both of them with one hand, then he pulls the scarf off of his neck, exposing two sets of tightly closed gills, and wraps the scarf around your wrists, tying them tightly while you keep struggling, trying to kick and push him off with your psionic powers. He does gasp when you punch him in the stomach with your red energy fist, but he still doesn't let go off you until he's done tying you up.

He keeps one hand on the scarf, holding your hands down in that way, and sits up as far as possible, glaring down at you with a victorious grin while you try to intensify your slowly weakening psionic sparks again.

"I told you that I'll teach you some fuckin manners, pissblood." He is fucking purring while he looks you over. With renewed anger you concentrate the remnants of your psionics again. You are already feeling terribly drained, but you just can't stand this look in his eyes...

A last time you put everything you've got into the blue and red sparks and hurl them against the seadweller's visage - but before they can even hit, you already feel the impact of his fist on your own face, and the psionic energy dissipates as you cry out in pain.

When the stars dancing in front of your eyes fade away, you see that Eridan is smirking down at you, one of his eyebrows raised - only one, that stupid squidfaced show-off.

"Are you done wwith bein a fuckin nuisance noww? Like, can wwe finally start gettin that stupid fish into your ugly face or do you havve anythin else do add here?”

Oh god, that smug asshole is getting so many kicks out of this… You wish he’d not sit on your leg right now, or he’d get an extra kick from you. Sadly, you’ve not even got enough power left to free your hands...

“Why don’t you try to shove it up your athth…” you growl instead.

He grins wider and licks over his fangs, eyeing you up in the most obvious manner possible. “You should not try to givve me ideas, lowwblood trash…” He reaches for the fish and tears out a small handful of flesh and scales.

You jerk back when you feel the slightly slimy flesh against your lips. It still doesn’t smell bad – but your sheer unwillingness to eat, to do what this piece of filth tells you to do, to actually submit to his repugnant sneer and the roughness of his grip makes you feel so utterly sick that you’re sure you’d vomit all over him if you actually had eaten something before.

“Noww come on, open that fuckin food trap of yours…” he growls, but you clench your lips shut, looking at him with all the anger and defiance you can muster, fighting against his grasp even more. You even start to kick again, but it doesn’t help – he’s really got you fixed in an unfavorable position.

He rolls his eyes and lets out a deep sigh. "Wwhy do lowwbloods alwways havve to act like fuckin wwigglers? Wwell... If you're not goin to comply, I fear I'll havve to be a bit less gentle than I maybe could be." 

Suddenly he pushes his pinkie and his thumb against the connection of your upper and your lower jaw - holding the fish against your lips with the three other fingers. You try to keep your jaws closed and to toss your head around, but his grip is too strong, and you're absolutely sure that he's going to break some of your teeth out. You can already taste blood when you unclench your jaw a tiny bit, and before you can do anything about it he stuffs the fish into your mouth with two icy fingers.

You try to bite down on those fingers, but now his grip is too firm, pushing right into the junction of your jaws and making it absolutely impossible to close your mouth when he starts to stuff the fish down your throat, right into your gullet. You gag and spit, but it only earns you more of his fingers. For a moment you feel as if you were suffocating, unable to breath because that bastard is actually squeezing your fucking windpipe shut, then you finally swallow. You can't taste anything but bile as your gullet constricts around two of his fingers.

He grins again. "Noww, not so hard after all, is it?" You just growl and keep trying to bite him, but you feel just so incredibly sick... There's something hot around your eyes, something wet, and you freeze when you notice that you've actually teared up - and apparently that makes him notice it too.

That horrible smirk spreads farther on his face. "Aww... Wwell, that's wwhat you get from not obeyin..." His face comes closer and you start to struggle again, but honestly, you're pretty sick of struggling by now, because it won't fucking get you anywhere. Your eyes widen when you see his mouth come closer, then you let out an angry growl - a growl that sounds pretty pathetic since you're still practically choking on his fingers - when he sticks out his tongue and licks your tears away.

You can see a glint of yellowish liquid when he pulls away, still with his tongue stuck out as if he wanted to taunt you by showing you the result of your weakness.

"Try bein a good lowwblood, and you'll not havve to cry anymore..." he says, sneering from one strange fin-ear to the other when he finally lets go of your jaw. You slowly close it, moving your lower jaw to one side, then another. It feels stiff, sore... And the state of your throat isn't exactly any better.

The purpleblood tears another small handfull of its flesh out of the fish and grabs your jaw again in the same fashion as before, making you choke when he pushes the slimy piece of fish past your pharynx, basically stuffing it down your esophagus. You can feel his fingers INSIDE of your fucking gullet, and even though you know that feeling - they pushed that feeding tube far deeper in than he could ever get his fingers - it is still one of the most disgusting, nausea-inducing, mortifying feelings you ever experienced. You're completely at this fish-scums mercy, you can't struggle, you can't use your psionics to help you, you have to just lie here, with your mouth wide open, having your gullet fingered and stuffed by the person who basically sentenced you to death by choosing you to breed for the royal heiress...

You can't even just refuse to swallow. You do try to regurgitate the fish, but he keeps his fingers where they are, so the fish can't get anywhere else but down into your stomach. And you can't even breathe properly - his fingers are once again pushing your windpipe shut. And so you finally do swallow the chunk of fish down.

Even though the mere thought of obeying is burning in every single convolution of your brain, there is nothing else you can do.

You feel so utterly helpless... And you just don't know how to deal with it - your mind is raging, crying, screaming, and you know that none of that will do physically. You can't rage, because he is still holding your body down, you can't scream, because he still hasn't pulled his fingers out of your throat, and you won't cry, not again.

The only yellow liquid he will ever see on your skin again will be your blood.

He pulls his fingers out when you have finished gulping down everything he pushed into your throat.

He lets go of your jaw again, but he doesn’t grab another piece of fish this time.

"Look, grubsack", he says, leaning back as far as he can while still holding your wrists. "I don't really care for stuffin your throat. Just try to be less of a sack of aggressivve barkbeast wwaste and do wwhat you are told. I'll keep stuffin you if I havve to, but I wwould rather not and you wwould rather not." He smirks again. "I mean, not that I don't enjoy seein you chokin on my fingers, but I havve so much more important things to do. Just be a good lowwblood and let me feed you that fuckin fish."

You just growl up at him. "I'd rather choke than eat anything out of your hand..." No matter how much you despise having him shove food down your gullet, you'd rather have him stick his hand down your throat before you actually let yourself be fed by him like some sort of house-broken long ear creature.

He sighs in a theatrical way that makes you even more eager to acquaint your fist with the bridge of his nose.

"Wwell, of course wwe could go back and forth dishin out stupid little animosities until I snap and try to push that wwhole stupid fish into your shit-leakin eatin orifice, or I'll let go of you, step back, and you'll try to be a reasonable troll and just eat that shit yourself. You knoww, like, wwithout me forcin in evvery stupid bite." 

He rolls his eyes when you just look at him suspiciously, not answering. You're highly confused by that sudden change of mind - honestly, what the fuck? He's just basically been sitting on you for the last ten minutes, forcing your mouth open and sticking his whole fucking hand into it, and now he suddenly lost his interest in humiliating you like that? There has to be something fishy going on, doesn't it?

Oh, fuck those puns.

Mr Fishnook growls back, more in annoyance than out of aggression though, and finally lets go off the scarf around your wrists. He even unbinds your wrists and wraps the scarf around his neck again before he stands up. You immediately sit up, rolling your shoulders a little bit, wondering if you will ever not suffer from sore or stiff muscles again.

"Hold your breath for once and listen good now, you lispin asshole", he announces as he looks down on you. "You wwill eat. You wwill do exactly wwhat Feferi and I tell you to. You wwill get some flesh on that skin-covvered skeleton that the caretakers in that shithivve I got you from havve mistaken for a body. You wwill stop tryin to starvve yourself. You wwill behavve like a good little wwhore, especially wwhen Fef is around. You'll spread your legs eagerly once I get Fef to actually ovvercome her disgust for your ovverheated mutant body. You wwill not make her feel bad for usin you for the only thing you're alivve for. She is FAR too kind for her owwn good, and you wwill not take advvantage of that. And noww you'll take that fish and eat up evvery bite until there's only the fins, bones and head left. Understood?"

You raise your eyebrows in confusion. What the fuck is going on now? Why the hell is he talking about the 'rules' now? Didn't he hold a similar speech before? God, that guy really is fond of big speeches, huh?

"And why the fuck should I do thomething like that? I don't thee why I should follow your thtupid orderth." you say, crossing your arms in front of your chest defensively. You know that you're behaving like a stubborn moron, but that stubbornness is pretty much all you've got left.

Suddenly his hand is on your neck again - fuck, does that guy have some kind of throat fetish? - nearly cutting off your air once again. His body is threateningly close, his face looming just about half an inch away from yours.

"You'll do that because I tell you so, and because I am going to make you suffer in a wway not evven a mistake of nature like you has evver experienced before..."

You can't say that you're not afraid at all - he is stronger, after all, a lot stronger, and nearly two heads taller than you, and his fucking long teeth are right in front of your face at the moment - but you still just snort. You refrain from spitting at him this time, though.

"Oh, come on, you're not gonna be able to do anything like that. I've thuffered through worthe shit in the latht thix thweeps than you'll experienth in your whole life."

He raises an eyebrow again - briefly you wonder if he trained himself to be able to do that so he could look like one of those absolutely ridiculous villains from stupid history movies. You wouldn't put that past him. However, when he presses down harder on your throat, you quickly abandon that line of thought. You're too preoccupied with catching your breath.

His voice is honeyed when he talks again, sweet and gentle, his fishy breath brushing over your ear.

"Just don't forget that wwe only need your torso and your head for breeding... Your horns, your teeth, your tongue, your eyes, your arms, your legs... They are all absolutely... dispensable..."

All of a sudden you feel as if your lungs and stomach were completely filled with ice, so cold that it burns your intestines from inside.

And for the first time, you are utterly and mortally terrified of your new purpleblooded owner...


End file.
